


Count To One

by PilotFlux



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: believe it or not this isnt the end of the world, help where you can!, meta on our current chaotic world, stay home stay safe, we'll die from aliens first, youre valuable like everyone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilotFlux/pseuds/PilotFlux
Summary: Count to one, and jump.That’s what the first time webslinging felt like. Its this amazing feeling, like you’re giving gravity the finger. Nothing makes as much sense as falling. It’s instinctive, built into our DNA. Maybe that’s why Peter loves it so much. It makes sense. Nine point eight meters per second squared, all the time.Count to one, and it feels like forever.//Wanted to vent a bit and it came out like this. Pretty short. Read notes for more.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Count To One

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys are all managing at the moment, with everything thats going on. I just wanted to write a bit of a venty thing to remind everyone to take care of each other. Help where you can, and remember to stay home, stay safe, and stay sane. The best thing to do is make sure you don't act as a vector for contamination, so healthcare workers and other necessary employees can do their jobs safely.  
> "Hope is the thing that'll take us through."  
> -Jack Kirby

Count to one, and jump.

That’s what the first time webslinging felt like. Its this amazing feeling, like you’re giving gravity the finger. Nothing makes as much sense as falling. It’s instinctive, built into our DNA. Maybe that’s why Peter loves it so much. It makes sense. Nine point eight meters per second squared, all the time. 

Count to one, and it feels like forever. 

He exhaled, tipping over the building’s edge on his toes. It was cold as balls; Spring had rewarded the city with a warm reprieve from miserable cold for just a week before plunging them back into snow and subzero winds. The burrito he had for lunch settled weird in his stomach, half-frozen by the time he could eat it (a guy had tried to steal a leopard print scarf from a thrift shop), which made its already unpleasant taste less than desirable. 

Count to one, and everything makes sense.

Quiet overcast left Queens’s already overly calm atmosphere seeping eerily into his skin, abject dread nagging the back of his head like the night after watching a horror movie. He was being extra careful, only helping people who really needed it- Making extra masks for doctors and nurses, keeping people from spreading it anymore that it already had. 

Count to one, and try to breathe. 

It was kind of crazy how hard the transition was, from normal function to insanity. Earth had survived a multitude of world-ending threats, and a virus is what made people go out of their minds. The scarf guy he’d stopped earlier broke down when the police came to get him. Poor guy was afraid his toddler would get sick, and didn’t have anything to use as a mask. His family was homeless. 

He bought them the scarf. And some food. Gotta help where you can, right?

Count to one, and remember why you’re here. 

Wind tried to whip him backwards, cold and angry. Peter grimaced, cracking the knuckles of his thumbs. Below, two cars were waiting at a stoplight, on a street usually so congested you couldn’t see the other side unless you jumped. No one was on the streets, thankfully. Far off, he could make out a lady running in the park, breath condensing into mist.   
Count to one, and keep waiting. 

He exhaled a breath that had become stuck in his throat, and plopped down onto the edge. Peter hated this. New York was supposed to be vibrant and lively and the place everyone went for new experiences, not a ghost town. Reality was coming straight out of a Steven King novel at this point, twisting everything sideways. Sometimes it felt like a brand-new eldritch horror would pop up at the U.N. and declare its plan to wipe out humanity with a revised, kid-friendly version of the Bubonic Plague.   
God, why couldn’t it just be a bad guy, like the good old days?

Count to one, and hope.

When he finally pushed off the edge, he tucked into a front flip for the first two stories. His web was later than it usually was, leaving him just a dozen feet off the sidewalk. He caught the top of a lamppost, swinging over its hood and landing with an unremarkable roll.

Count to one, and keep counting.   
He wandered the streets lazily. It was noon. People were usually shoplifting or looking for directions or asking him for photos at noon. 

No one was there. 

Count to one, and try not to panic. 

Instead of armed robberies in the alleyways, there was spraypaint. “STAY HOME, STAY SAFE, STAY STRONG.” 

Count to one, and hope it’ll be over soon. 

Lines of shops that were usually stuffed with people, clogged up by foot traffic, were closed down, signs on windows barring entry. Peter rounder a corner, spotting a flower taped to the window of Delmar’s shop, the old man’s scrawl wishing everyone luck and playfully threatening a refusal of service if people started buying from Subway.

Count to one, and someone might count with you. 

Someone shouted to him from a windowsill. A kid, probably twelve. “Hey, Spider-Man! Are you gonna go make sure we don’t get sick?”

Peter smiled underneath the mask. “Darn right I am! Silly virus shouldn’t have messed with my Queens.”

In the window, he could see a woman, probably his mom, pulling the kid into a hug. She gave him a wave, and he waved back.

Count to one, and remember that you’ll be okay. 

He wandered a little more before deciding to stop by the homeless shelter. On quieter days, (which were most days, now,) Peter liked to help out where he could. 

The sign on the door declared it would be closed for the foreseeable future. An arrow pointed to the building’s side, directing visitors to a set of tables with food and blankets. A middle-aged woman wearing a mask and gloves was sitting in a battered plastic chair, skimming over documents and shivering slightly. He approached her, putting on his most jovial tone. “Hi, Miss! Need some help?”

Her eyes were tired, a little red and swollen. She looked like she’d been crying. “Oh, no. Just waiting for someone to come by, you know? In case anyone needs help.”

Peter nodded, rocking on his feet. “Yeah. I get that.”

The two laughed quietly, and he nodded to the chair next to her. “Want some company?”

“Sure. I’m Kat, by the way.”

She stuck out a hand, and he shook it, sitting down on the frigid plastic. “Nice to meet you! Spider-Man, if you couldn’t tell.”

They laughed again.

There were sandwiches and blankets stacked behind the tables, carefully packaged by someone who cared. Peter must have been staring at them a bit too long, because Kat kicked his spandex-clad shin softly, asking if he was hungry. 

“No, just- It’s kinda weird. Everything that’s going on. Nice to see people working together.”

Count to one, and you’ll see a little clearer. 

She frowned a little, arms crossed over her fluffy parka in an attempt to fight off the wind. “Yeah. A lady dropped them off yesterday. We try our hardest to help people out, but, man, it’s a lot.” Gesturing toward the blankets, Kat sighed. “This is the last of the stuff we can give out to keep people warm, too. Not many donations flooding in anymore, thanks to the drop in employment. It’s been rough for everyone.”

Peter’s eyes were sad behind the mask as he looked at her. “Yeah. Really has.”

Count to one, and everyone else will, too. 

“There’s times I think of leaving, y’know. I could go home and be warm right now.”

She was looking at the ground, expressionless. 

He tilted his head in bemusement. “Why don’t you?”

Kat pointed to her phone on the table, an iPhone SE. Old and battered. “My daughter got sick last week. Husband’s been home with her. We’re well off, luckily. Gonna make it through all this fine, as long as we’re smart,” Slouching deeper into her chair, she jerked a thumb toward the pile of blankets, one missing out of a stack. “I saw a kid in the street earlier. He was way too young, maybe seventeen. Thin as a damn twig, looked like he was gonna blow away. Had to force him to take the blanket.”

Peter listened intently, leading forward. 

“He was living with his grandpa before this happened. Shit luck, got evicted and couldn’t find a place. Pops got sick, one of the earlier cases in the city. Died of pneumonia in an alleyway.”

He winced, instinctively giving the woman’s shoulder a squeeze. “That’s horrible.”

She nodded, looking back up at him. “We have to do stuff for people who can’t. Give out blankets, sandwiches, fight crime, whatever. Everyone’s gotta look out for everyone else, y’know? It’s our job. No point in surviving a pandemic if you’ll just be the same douchebag you were before afterward.”

Peter left a little later, after giving Kat a hug and a stream of thanks for her work. The clouds had parted a little, letting a little sunlight shine down on the city.

Count to one, and remember that you’re human, like everyone else.


End file.
